


aftermath

by nebuleia



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Abel Is A Dick, Canon-Typical Violence, Chaotic Bi and Disaster Bi Don't Know What To Do With Their Feelings: The Fic, F/M, Guilt, HOW DID THEY END UP IN THE DIRT??????????? I ASK THAT MYSELF AND I WROTE THIS?????, Mild Language, Romantic Fluff, Takes Place Within Episode 3, Tripping Traps Because You Were Distracted By Your Girlfriend: A Louis Autobiography, Unreliable Narrator, Written Pre-Episodes 3-4, a hint of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebuleia/pseuds/nebuleia
Summary: And in that silence, entwined fingers illuminated only by embers and starlight, she remembers the intimate heat of his mouth, the flutter of uncertainty twined with the tingling ache to press closer; recalls an echo of the soft sound that had unwittingly escaped his throat.Liquid warmth coils tight down Clementine’s spine and her skin prickles pleasantly.It isn't fair to either of them to dwell on it, not with how much they've lost, but the thought lingers still, caught in every tentative touch, every gentle word.





	aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally a drabble I wrote on my tumblr (@clouis-loumentine) but I kind of liked aspects of it and decided to flesh it out/rework the damn mess here
> 
> the romantic stuff is all T rated but Abel is a goddamn creep who makes sexualised comments in an attempt to rattle Clementine so that's where the M rating comes in. These comments and their content are clearly implied but not explicitly said.
> 
> alsoI'veneverkissedanyonebeforesoUHthere'sprobablyErrorsinhere

It’s something of a relief when Abel finally slips into unconsciousness, slumped in the midday sun against the school's courtyard flag pole. A grim satisfaction swells in her chest seeing his wrist bound tight to the unyielding steel, though there is little practical point to it beyond mild, irritating chafe. No, the shattered leg, recent amputation and rapidly swelling face do a far better job at restraining him than the rotting rope ever could.

They can offer a crude bandage, a splint for the leg and little else. He isn't worth losing the precious few supplies they have left, not with the increasingly sallow, sickly tinge to his skin, face twisted and pale with pain.

She wants to pity him; not for his sake but for her own. Lily's taunts are after all, an omen in the worst of her nightmares: Lee's horrified disappointment at this world having whittled away the little girl he loved. 

But the pity doesn't come, not with the hint of infection swelling the tendon nor with the evident exhaustion and she  _can't_  pretend to be indifferent. No, there is only the seething anger squeezing at her lungs, the remnants of terror at being helplessly pinned against the unyielding mahogany of the headmaster's desk. 

For Lee's sake, for the memory of his compassion, Clementine tries to regret the pride she feels at the gash across his brow, the physical reminder that she'd freed AJ and herself from this monster. It doesn't work and she prays Lee forgives her for it, like so many other things.

Ruby prods at Abel's wound with a stony look and assures them that he’s not going to die yet. He’s closer to a cockroach than a man in this, still kicking despite everything. 

Abel hasn’t said much so far insofar as information beyond snide taunts and spitting the odd vicious curse in Clementine’s direction. It doesn't faze her exactly, but the low snarl of his voice brings Clementine back to the cold press of wood against her face, the stench of his breath filling her nose, arm twisted cruelly behind her back, trapping her between the painful press of wood and the repulsive heat of his body. She doesn't let him see how it rattles her, spits back just as good as she gets with language that has AJ grinning despite himself.  

Louis is a different story altogether. One particularly vile comment about where she could "stick her mouth and choke" nearly results in the bone being broken anew with a barely restrained swing of Chairles and AJ delivering a vicious kick to the leg in question (He doesn't exactly understand the insult but Louis's clenched jaw and Clementine's shamed, disgusted recoil say more than enough). 

They need him alive, at least until he'll tell them how to get to the Delta where they can rescue their friends; avenge their losses. It's not exactly a plan, but it's something and they need Abel however much they despise it.

Needless to say, it’s difficult enough for Clementine to try and mediate the fresh swell of grief-stricken fury in what the remains of _Ericson’s Boarding School For Troubled Youth_ when she too wants to take a steel-toed boot to his jaw herself. 

Mitch’s funeral would have been hard enough had they successfully driven away Lily’s raiders without further loss, but in addition to everything else? Clementine could feel the almost palpable despair threatening to overwhelm. 

Too many nights of hearing Ruby comfort a sobbing Willy, of firmly steering a helplessly angry AJ away from Abel, of watching Louis’s once strained optimism disappear in favor a grief stricken guilt weigh heavily on her shoulders. 

And despair in this world always gave way eventually to fury. 

She doesn't want to think of Kenny, of his once boiling rage, but the fear lingers in the back of her mind. That fury had mellowed of course, fractured by the broken anger of a child demanding he understand how much they'd  _all_  lost, soothed further with time, its death murmured in shamefaced apology to her again and again. The memory lingers despite forgiveness though, and every involuntary flinch of her body against the stifling rage building in this place sets her teeth on edge.  

It's irrational, she knows and hell, even if it wasn't, the kids here need her and AJ to retrieve the others. The cold pragmatism to the thought makes her feel sick and Clementine tries to put it from her mind.

Her nerves are beginning to fray however, just like the rest.

Every day wasted on Abel is another day Violet, Omar and Aasim are carted further and further away into the distance, to be pawns of someone else’s war. Another day that hope dwindles further. 

They have no choice though and Clementine is nothing if not determined. She has more than enough scars to prove that and if she has to resort to cruder means of getting that information? Let’s just say it wouldn’t be an overly heavy weight on her conscience. After all, it takes a special kind of scum to steal children for war mongering. 

Kidnapped kids strike a particularly sensitive nerve in her now. 

Hunting and scavenging trips with AJ are a breath from it all, a return to a routine she knows the steps of by heart. They work well as a duo, clearing Walkers with little trouble just like they used to. He's capable, her AJ, smart as hell and kind-hearted beneath it all and she couldn't be prouder. Sometimes she thinks of Lee, wonders if this is how he felt with her trailing by his arm. 

AJ makes this life both harder and easier in countless ways and she loves him for it, the last of her family. 

It’s easier still with Louis by her side, with the gentle stroke of his calloused fingers against her knuckles and the comforting hand at the small of her back (she doesn’t think he realizes he does it, always jolting away with flushed cheeks when she looks at him). 

Yet in some ways, his affection is harder to bear. It shouldn’t be, not with…  _everything_ that has happened: the echo of Violet’s furious wailing and Mitch gurgling,  _drowning_  in his own blood still haunting her dreams. 

It's her fault, really. The tentative affection and righteous anger is comforting, but it's honest and unfamiliar, waters utterly untread and she must be a  _coward_  for finding it soothing when the others still suffer so much, even Louis. 

Yet when he's there before her, real and not something of a nightmare, she sees Violet screaming, held by an iron grip in her hair, sees herself choosing another over that cry for help even when they'd risked their life to save her. Clementine's throat tightens and she blinks back tears, hates herself a little more.

She sees the weight of similar guilt it in Louis's haunted gaze, in the barely noticeable flinch at Violet's name, in the skin rubbed raw from hours of archery practice. He's improving, albeit slowly, though for some reason his progress always takes a spectacular nosedive when she steps in to physically correct his stance, trying to loosen the sudden stiffness of his elbows. 

It's a simple and sweet distraction: Louis jokingly swooning at the flex of her biceps when she pulls the bow taunt and she in turn playfully punching him in the arm, cheeks burning. AJ seems confused by the latter in particular, rolling his eyes when Louis cheekily intones that "It's a boyfriend thing,".

If only it could last. 

She sees the weight slumping his shoulders. Clementine wants to tell him that guilt isn't his to bear; he isn't the one who exchanged one life for another, however unwittingly. The words lodge somewhere in her throat every time she tries, die a silent death when he promises by the fading light of their campfire, low and unusually solemn that they're going to fix this, together. 

And in that silence, entwined fingers illuminated only by embers and starlight, she remembers the intimate heat of his mouth, the flutter of uncertainty twined with the tingling ache to press closer; recalls an echo of the soft sound that had unwittingly escaped his throat.

Liquid warmth coils tight down Clementine’s spine and her skin prickles pleasantly.

It isn't fair to either of them to dwell on it, not with everything they've lost, but the thought lingers still, caught in every tentative touch, every gentle word.

Louis doesn't help either, not with the sweet kisses brushed against her hair when she hugs him after a close call with a Walker or threading his trembling fingers through her own at a subdued dinner. Neither of them seem to really know what to do with any of this beyond that simple affection. Boyfriend, girlfriend, they're simple words with simple meanings, worries of a world long gone.

Those words don't speak of the longing to simply  _touch_ , the paralyzing embarrassment felt at the latter, the simple thrill at being in one another's presence. 

_All we have this moment, might as well enjoy it._

* * *

"Lou, if you don't stop tickling me, I swear to G - " she stifles a shriek when he prods her again, "-  _God_  I'll leave you as Walker bait!"

She can still see that stupidly cute, cheeky grin in the corner of her eye. 

" _Clem_ , you wouldn't do that," Louis clutches his heart, pouting. "You're soft for me,"

Clementine thumbs the snare holding him aloft, trying to untie the knot around his ankle without having to cut the rope. It'd be a pain to fix otherwise and they're not exactly running around with armfuls of rope to spare. 

"Don't test me," 

It comes loose with a final tug and Louis hits the dirt face down with a groan. Clementine can't help it. She laughs and laughs till her stomach hurts and she has to sit down (and it aches to laugh like this after so long), clutching her sides, squirming when her boyfriend starts tickling her in retaliation, looking both pleased and embarrassed. 

Kissing him is impulsive, crushing her nose against his cheek, embarrassing, and his shocked silence the worst of all. She draws back without a thought, shame coiling tight in her gut. 

“I..I’m so sorry,” She babbles, scrambling to her feet and fighting the urge to run. “This isn’t the tim- it was stupid. I shouldn’t hav -” 

The rest is muffled suddenly against the desperate press of his mouth, just as warm as she remembers.  

They  _shouldn’t_ , not with the heaviness of this unspoken guilt between them, not with everything else, not when the thought of losing him and his gentle affection even after so little floods her veins with ice. She knows this, she  _knows_  this and still cups his face with shaking hands, feels the flushed heat of the blush crawling down her throat, coaxes the soft sounds from his lips. 

Clementine presses a near desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth as he curls an arm around her waist, draws her flush to him. 

Cheeks burning, Clementine tangles her fingers in the dark, thick tresses of his hair, relishing with some surprise how he shivers beneath her touch. 

It's almost possible forget the ever lingering guilt squeezing her throat. 

_I wanted to save you both and then I couldn’t_

The warm weight of his body against her own is stifling, tingles every nerve alight with sensation and she cannot _think_. He makes her selfish, want things that this world has denied her again and again. But those concerns fade under the tentative brush of fingertips; for in this moment, there is nothing beyond his thumb curled at her jaw, the sharp shared intake of breath upon seeing one another so close through fluttering lashes, his cheek beneath her fingertips.

Louis slips suddenly, bumps his forehead against her’s, trips over an apology and Clementine’s heart aches with more than affection.

_But I chose you, and I would keep choosing you even if I had known and what kind of a fucking friend does that make me?_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I cherish every kudos/comment so please don't be shy if you would like to leave one! I will shower you with love forever!


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